


Ours

by soniclipstick (veriscence)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Clint Needs a Hug, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, SHIELD Husbands, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after the Chitauri attack on New York, Clint Barton wakes up and walks down the stairs of their two-story home, clad in Phil's old army shirt. He wobbles to the kitchen, opens the cereal cupboard and promptly loses his fucking mind. </p><p>Warning: Funerals, dealing with grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ours

**Author's Note:**

> I know this was going to be a giant ball of angst the moment the idea came to my mind.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Mistakes are mine and mine alone.

They’re having shawarma in the remains of a half-destroyed city when it occurs to Clint how odd it is that he hasn’t heard anything from Phil yet. He’s about to turn and ask Natasha but then remembers she’s in the washroom. So he asks Stark to borrow his phone and walks away from the table to dial his husband. He can’t help the smile that forms at the photo that Stark has as his contact image. That suit is horrendous, but then, that’s what happens when Phil has nothing to wear but the only suit that Clint’s got, which was obviously too big for him at the shoulders. 

He’s annoyed when it goes directly to voice-mail. He knows Phil’s probably knee deep in trouble, and doesn’t need the distraction, but then, this is Phil. He’s the king of efficiency. He should pick up his damn phone. He’s not worried Phil’s doing it on purpose. There’s no way that Phil hasn’t already forgiven him, because Phil promised to love him no matter what and Phil keeps his promises. Phil’s always been able to forgive Clint before he could do it himself. Clint doesn’t trust himself right now, but nothing will make him lose faith in Phil Coulson. And right now he needs to talk to Phil and let him know Clint’s okay, but a voice-mail is all he’s got, so he’ll compromise for now. 

“Hey. It’s- it’s me. We’re okay. Stopped an alien invasion and destroyed Manhattan. But you know. Phil- I. Call Stark back when you can, I know you’re probably busy with the Helicarrier and all but I just-” He pauses, unsure whether he’s allowed to say the words, then says them anyway because it doesn’t matter what Phil thinks, this is the only thing inside of him that Loki didn’t twist and turn to his will because it hadn’t been important. “I love you. See you soon.” 

He walks back and hands the phone to Stark, who takes a look at his phone and blanches. “Dude. I’m guessing no one told you, but Agent Coulson- um. He’s dead.”

In the back of his mind, Clint wonders if it’s normal that his world doesn’t shake. He looks at Stark, then Banner, and then finds himself being pushed into his seat by Nat who’s just returned. She straddles him and pulls him into a bone crushing embrace. 

“Clint, are you with me? I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeats and then holds him tight. “It’s gonna be okay. I swear.”

Natasha is a lying liar who lies. But it’s because she loves him, so he doesn’t bother arguing. He pushes her away. There’s glass in his skin and it’s going to hurt her. Plus, he’s fine. He’s totally fine. He turns to Tony. “Was it one of my-.”

Because that, he might not be able to survive. 

“No, friend,” It’s Thor who answers. “Forgive me. It was Loki and his sceptre.”

 _Well, that would make sense,_ Clint thinks. After all, it was the very thing that had stolen his mind. _You have heart._

And now it’s stolen his heart too. 

Nat fixes him with an expression he can’t quantify. “Hawkeye?” 

“I said I’m fine. I should probably get back to the Helicarrier. Fury’s probably got psych and a suspension for me up there somewhere.”

Natasha pulls away and settles back in her seat. “You sure?” 

“Yeah, you stay.”

“Someone want to tell us what’s going on?” Rogers asks. 

Clint ignores him, nodding at Natasha. Phil’s dead. Efficient, unbeatable Phil Coulson was beaten by a demi-god with a glow stick and delusions of grandeur. Who cares if the secrets out now? Clint had never cared anyway. He stands up and walks out of the restaurant. 

***

They don’t court marshal him or anything. He ends up on indefinite psych leave. Paid even. He never gets to put that arrow through Loki’s eye but there is some satisfaction in watching that bastard get sent back to Asgard. Stark tells him to drop by sometime for new arrows or something. Clint nods noncommittally. 

Clint goes home, wraps himself in Phil’s bathrobe. He breathes in the lingering smell of Phil’s shampoo and aftershave. 

He falls asleep in the bathroom. 

***

Three weeks later he drives to Arlington with Natasha and accepts the flag and buries his husband. The Avengers are there minus Thor, and a woman with hair the colour of strawberries that Clint recognizes as Pepper Potts. She hugs him after the ceremony and cries. 

Clint wonders when he’ll start crying. He’s shit at a lot of things. He never expected mourning to be one of them. 

He shoves the flag into Lola’s trunk and forgets about it. He goes home and collapses on the couch, ready to catch up on _Supernanny._

 _Phil’s going to love this episode,_ he thinks before falling asleep. 

***

Three months after the Chitauri attack on New York, Clint Barton wakes up and walks down the stairs of their two-story home clad in Phil's old army shirt. He wobbles to the kitchen, opens the cereal cupboard and promptly loses his fucking mind.

***

Natasha finds him a couple of hours later on the dirty kitchen floor and clutching the all bran cereal, consumed by wrecking sobs that he can feel all the way to his toes. She doesn’t say anything, just ignores the mess of cereal on the ground and lies down next to him, holding him until his quiets. 

It may be hours or minutes or seconds, he doesn’t know how long they’ve been curled up on the ground before he begins to speak. “He’s the only one who ever ate that all bran crap and,” He chokes back a sob, “None of the suits smell like him anymore, nobody steals my bed sheets, and who the fuck is going to deal with the roses because the garden is his thing and I can’t even throw away his fucking toothbrush.” He ends his outburst with a deep breath and finally looks at Natasha. 

“Help me,” he begs. 

She stands up and leads him upstairs. “Pack a go bag,” she orders. She heads back down and when he comes down the stairs, the mess in the kitchen is cleared and she’s waiting with the house keys twirling in her fingers. 

They lock up, take her Stingray and leave Lola behind. 

***

They find Stark in his workshop with Banner, Rogers spread out in the corner with a pencil and a sketchpad. 

Stark doesn’t bat an eyelash, just tells him apartment 3705 is his. Rogers invites him to dinner at seven in the common room. Banner looks up from whatever he’s doing, smiles at him and goes back to work. Natasha rolls her eyes and takes him upstairs. 

***

“I should sell it,” Clint says one day. He and Natasha are sprawled on the couch in the common room, it’s 4 am and the others are either fast asleep or working in the lab. 

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

***

He goes running with Steve and a new friend of his, this ex-air force guy named Sam. Steve runs circles around them until they get tired of it and dump him in the Captain America fountain in Central Park. Afterwards they have to run like the wind all the way back to Stark Tower and hide. 

Clint wakes up the next morning to find all his clothes in the bathroom tub, water beyond freezing. 

He laughs for the first time in what feels like centuries. 

***

Fury calls them in early November. Clint’s still on psych leave, not that anyone in psych has had the time to talk to him yet, so it’s the first time he’s seen the man since May. They’re all suited up and ready for another world changing disaster when he leads them down to level 8 and opens the door to reveal a living, breathing, though rather gaunt ghost. 

Clint loses his shit and Fury finds himself with an arrow in his shoulder. Steve shoves Clint behind him and the only reason a war doesn’t break out between the Avengers and the SHIELD agents now pointing their weapons at Clint is Fury himself yelling at his agents to get the fuck out of here, you mother fucking idiots. 

Medics are rushing to the Directors’ aid. He can hear Fury in the background explaining that it was touch and go, that Phil had just woken up a few hours ago. Clint doesn’t care. 

All he sees is Phil. 

His hair is greasy and incredibly messy, there’s dried saliva at the corner of his mouth and the bed sheets are pooled at his waist revealing a bandage that covers his entire chest. But those eyes of his are half open and looking in his direction. The EKG beeps erratically as his pale hands come up reaching toward Clint. And Clint, he should go to Phil but his legs feel like lead and the air has turned to mercury. He can’t breathe. 

Steve pushes him gently forward and somehow, he ends up in front of Phil. The man’s hand is flailing in a terribly failed attempt to reach Clint, so Clint wraps the frail, cold hand into his own palms and sits on the side of the bed. 

He doesn’t trust his voice to speak so instead he just looks, and touches his hair even though it is in dire need of a wash, and kisses him and kisses him even though Phil tastes like sweat and blood. He doesn’t end up needing to say anything because all Phil manages to whisper is a raspy “Stay,” before falling asleep. 

***

Lola’s waiting for them outside the Hub along with the rest of the Avengers, even Thor who’s returned from Asgard. “You’re going to love it there, Phil, I’ve got the whole last season of _Supernanny_ TiVo’d for you.” Tony tells them gleefully, and Phil turns to Clint in confusion. 

Clint sighs exasperatedly and turns to the glorified mechanic. “We’re going home, shellhead,” and helps Phil into Lola. 

***  
Clint hasn’t been here in half a year. The roses are nowhere to be seen, and the vines are climbing up their front porch, twisting up and around the bench. The grass is overgrown but it’s hard to tell, winter’s first frost having succeeded in smothering it all down. 

He drives Lola into the garage and helps Phil out and into the living room. It’s warm, and Clint reminds himself to thank Natasha for turning on the heat before Phil catches pneumonia. Again. 

There’s a fine layer of dust everywhere and no food in the fridge. Phil says nothing, but he kisses him gently after dinner, tasting of the tomato soup they’re ordered. They can go shopping tomorrow.

Clint doesn’t stray far from Phil the first couple of weeks. Phil is endlessly patient and lets him follow him around like a lost puppy. But out of the corner of his eye, Clint can see that familiar worried expression. Phil always worries. He doesn’t ask, just waits for Clint. They don’t speak much these days, but it’s alright. 

***

“It wasn’t ours anymore,” Clint finally confesses one night. Clint’d just woken up freezing to find that the bed covers have been stolen by his husband in his sleep. He’d only meant to carefully take some of the duvet back but his hands must have been particularly freezing because Phil jerked awake and turned to him, automatically pulling him close and the covers over them. So now they’re both awake and Clint’s nestled under Phil’s chin. He can smell that familiar shampoo that Phil’s been using for close to ten years now. Their bed finally smells right. 

Phil listens, rubbing soothing circles into the back of Clint’s neck. He’s always been good at that. 

“We were supposed to build a home together, and then it was just mine.”

“Well, it’s ours again,” Phil whispers into Clint’s mouth. “We’ll rebuild. We always do.”

“I love you too much,” he whispers, hoping he’s allowed to say that. “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Phil says. Clint believes him. 

Clint is awake for a while after that, simply listening to Phil’s heartbeat. It skips a beat every now and then even in his sleep, and that’s terrifying. But it’s beating, so Clint’s fear slowly slips away. _As long as it’s beating,_ Clint thinks, _they’ll rebuild._

**Author's Note:**

> I have exams. I should be studying. Ralkana why must you come up with brilliant ideas that make me want to write and not study? I'm going to fail at becoming an environmental scientist. If only you could make money off of tumblr. I'm soniclipstick over there, by the way, if you want to come and procrastinate with me. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
